Peeta's World
by HungerWho37
Summary: My mum has taken off, so I thought I'd keep record of everything for when she comes back. That includes weird stuff that my family gets up to, and my totally honest feelings about school, snogs and cringeful situations. Plus, my feelings about being the only normal one in a house that looks like a cross between an animal sanctuary and a DIY shop. Welcome to my weird life.
1. Welcome to my (Weird) World

**A/N: Heya guys! Here's another story for you guys to read! There's Peetato if you squint :)**

**Okay, so this is based off a book series I got in my first year of High School called 'Ally's World'. It's an old series, I think. The first book written in 2001.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games and any lines taken from Ally's world belongs to Karen McCombie.**

**Peeta's World**

**The Past, the Present, and the Loud, Loud Girl**

**Prologue**

Dear Mum

I've decided to do something.

Don't panic; it's not like I'm about to pierce my lip, or enrol for the next Mars mission; or run away with the circus; and juggle clowns or something. (Although you'd probably think all that was cool). It's just that, you know how I've been keeping a box with all our photos and school reports and stuff for you to see? Well, no you don't-which is the problem-but trust me, that's what I'm doing.

Well, anyway, apart from those bits and pieces, I've decided that I'm going to start writing down some of the things that happen to all of us; the things that matter, anyway. It's not going to be like a diary or anything-I don't exactly have the patience for that. (Though I did buy one a couple of Januarys ago; it was half-price in the stationary shop up on the Broadway. I started out okay, prattling on about _what_ I've done that day and _what_ I was feeling and_ what_ we'd have for tea, but by January 10th I was just doodling flowers on the page. And the entry for January 15th just said, "BORED, BORED, BORED," so I kind of chucked it in after that).

So this time, I think I'll do it like an essay . . . Only it might be a bit on the long side. You know what I'm like. Remember that last report you saw when I was at first school? _"Peeta is very bright and imaginative, but his mind does tend to wander . . ."_

Hey guess what? Nothing's changed. It's like Grandma says, I'd get twice as much done if I stopped wittering for five minutes. Which is sort of true, I know. And which is what I'm doing now, I suppose . . .

Okay, so back to my plan.

I think I'll do it like I'm writing it for some stranger to read, 'cause-sorry, I don't meant to give you a hard time about this-it might make me sad if I just it all down for you. I suppose that's because I know it's not exactly likely that you're going to come walking through the door in the next two minutes or anything, and beg to read this . . .

But then, if-by some mind-blowing magic-you did, you'd have all our pictures and thinks to look at, _and_ be able to read all my stories about what's going on with me and Wayne and Rye and Cherry. And, of course Dad.

Speaking of dad, I think I'll start with his fortieth birthday, 'cause that's when Delly turned up, and when-don't panic-we nearly lost Cherry.

Love you lots,

Peeta

(your Mellark Child No. 3)

**Chapter One: **

**Welcome to my (weird) world**

Get a map of the world, find Panem.

Look even closer, there are 12 districts. Find the twelveth one. We're divided into two regions. Find the Merchant region. That's where I live. Where I was born and raised. Look for the square (it's big and in the shape of the square, can't miss it). Once you've found that, look at the building to the far, far right. It's old, the bricks are sort of weathered, the sign quite dirty?

I'm Peeta Mellark and that's where I live with my dad (Damien), an airhead (Rye), a control freak (Wayne) and space cadet (Cherry).

Okay, so once you've got that, there's two windows on either side of the front door displaying cakes and baked goods, that's the bottom floor where the bakery itself is. Look past that and above those windows were there's a second two. These ones are slightly frosted so that you can't see through. Then there's another window at the very top, in the roof, my attic bedroom.

That's where I've woken up nearly every morning for all of the sixteen years I've been on this planet, and where I'm normally very happy to wake up.

Until, well, one particular morning.

It was weird-for some reason, my whole head was vibrating.

Although, in saying this, there are a lot of weird things in the world right? Like nose hair. Or sporks. Or ready salted crisps. I mean, they don't really have a purpose, do they?

Another weird thing is the odd names my parents decided to give my family. Honestly, Cherry got off the lightest. Her real name is Chantal but since this was a blatant breach of the bread or baked good related theme, my brothers and I baptised her Cherry. (Not really baptised, obviously. It was a pretend ceremony when she was a baby where Rye poured some sprite onto her forehead while Wayne chanted a random passage from the bible). I suppose it just goes to show that some people have no imagination and anyway, when you get to know the story behind each name, they usually think it's pretty cool after all.

Hold on, am I getting sidetracked again?

Sorry.

Anyhow, it was a Sunday morning when this whole head vibration began. At first I didn't panic, I told myself it must be a lorry humming or an engine throbbing. Or a low flying plane. Although, if it was a low flying plane, I suppose I should have worried because there was the obvious possibility that it could ram into the bakery and massacre us all.

Then I noticed another thing-one side of my face and neck were as hot as a . . . very hot thing. A vibrating head _and_ a burning-hot face . . .

Okay, so _then_ I started to panic. Compared to people like my airhead brother Rye and my slightly ditzy best mate Katniss, I know I come over like I'm confident and logical. (And trust me, _I am_ confident and logical). But I am also a first class worrier.

Oh my god, what if I had meningitis?

Then all of a sudden, it just stopped. Okay, so maybe not meningitis. Maybe I was just losing my mind . . .

"Snurph."

My eyes flickered open and I was instantly filled with relief.

I turned my head on the pillow and came nose to nose with Colin.

"Oh don't mind me," I said sarcastically, resisting the urge to push the cat off my bed altogether.

Colin barely reacted as I tried to stood up and tried to sort my hair out. He continued to drone out this long, linger purr. Sometimes I wondered why the cats were so fascinated with sleeping in _my_ room on_ my_ face.

"Well Peeta," I said to myself, "you're officially the first person to ever suffer from Vibrating Head Syndrome."

I looked backwards in the direction of Colin, who had now sprawled himself out so he was stretched right across my pillow. All three legs (I'll explain it later) had a spot of their own, lounging comfortably on the pillow. Then I realized something really weird.

Do cats heads vibrate when they purr?

Now that I knew I wasn't going to die (well, I know I'm going to die eventually but not today!) I should have been relieved. But I wasn't.

Because my fear had been replaced with the omnious sensation that I had forgotten something . . .

Uh-oh.

"What's up with your hair? You look like you've been dragged through a forest backwards," said Wayne at the breakfast table. I scowled, unable to control my loathing for his desire to nit pick at everything wrong with me.

"A cat slept on my head," I muttered.

Wayne nodded, carrying on buttering his toast. "Which one?"

"Colin!" Cherry piped up.

I looked at my sister wearily. "How did you even know that?" I asked tiredly. My nose twitched, still tickly from the car hair, and I resisted the urge to rub it. Cherry leaned forward and picked some ginger fur off his face.

"Evidence," she said truimphantly.

"Thank you Pet Detective," I mumbled, my eyes drooping shut tiredly. I should have went to bed earlier last night. It's a strange phenomenon really. I close my door every night before I go to bed and yet somehow Cherry's animals are able to worm their way in. And somehow they decide that they want to nest on my face. It was funny at first but now I'm beginning to get severely worried.

I understand when Cherry has nightmares, sometimes she leaves the door open when she takes root in my bed at night. But she doesn't have nightmares _every_ night. Sometimes I wonder if she trains her cats and hamsters on how to open my bedroom door. Or maybe it's like that creepy Cravendale advert were the cats grow apposable thumbs . . .

"Rye up yet?" I asked, helping myself to some orange juice from the sticky carton in the middle of the table. It was warm, probably from sitting out so long, and tasted a bit off. I pulled a face and put it down again. I still hadn't remembered what I had forgotten but the feeling was still there . . .

"You're kidding, right?" Wayne replied. "Haven't you realized it's half-nine?"

I looked on the clock on the wall. Oh yeah . . .

"The King of Night won't be gracing us with his presence for a while yet," Wayne said through a full mouth of toast.

My two brothers were about as different as people can get while still managing to be related. Wayne was seventeen and sensible, and likes everything neat, tidy and organized. This is kind of a shame, since the Mellark household is the complete opposite of neat, tidy and organized. We live in a wonky household. Which kind of matches out family perfectly . . .

You should see his room. You'll think you've stepped into another dimension. Like the Twilight zone or something. It's all white and streamlined and you'd think he had ironed every object in there. Sometimes I think Wayne would prefer to get as far away from District 12 as he can, to maybe 1 or 2 where things are neater and less . . . messy.

Now take Rye's room. His walls are raspberry and covered in fairy lights. And before you ask, no, he's not gay. He's just very feminine. Nothing wrong with that, right? He could get away with wearing anything. He's my twin, but ever since I can remember, show him anything that twinkles and glistens, he's on it like a spider on a fly. He always looks for antique looks and charity outfits also. Constantly on the look out for a bargain.

So my two brothers have different tastes. They clash a lot and Wayne gets bugged by Rye. The main reason being that Rye does the one thing that never fail to annoy Wayne: call him by his first name. Call him by his real name: Wheat.

Boy, does Wayne hate that name. Once he even blew up at our dad, yelling at how it was so unfair and unjust that he got such a horrific name. I never thought it was that bad . . . But Wheat hates it so much that he changed it to Wayne. He changed it everywhere, on his books, in the school records, he's probably going to legally change it as well when he's old enough.

"So, where's dad?" I asked.

"Getting a newspaper," Wayne said. "Speaking of dad, I'm a bit worried."

I paused-was my forgotten thing something to do with dad? No, that didn't feel right. I carried on spreading peanut butter on my toast. "Worried? Why?" I asked.

"Well, we have a problem," he sighed.

Cherry mimed flying airplanes, making rocket ship noises. "Houston, we have a problem," she said in a fake amercian accent. She stayed up last night to watch a rocket programme with dad. I bet she will be going on about Houston for the rest of the week now.

I looked at her toast. A smiley face was drew into the margarine. Cherry liked food art. She was very good at it, too. Scrambled eggs is were her best work comes from. It's why she hates soup so much. There isn't much artistic license with soup.

"What kind of problem?" I asked.

I wasn't too worried. In Wayne's eyes, everything was a problem. Cherry bringing home a new wounded animal is a problem, my leaving homework until Sunday night is worthy of drama and Rye sitting daydreaming instead of doing the dishes when it's his turn is virtually an arrestable offence.

Wayne look at me in despair. Okay . . . I was supposed to know something . . . I tried to stare back at her, like I already knew but was just being mysterious about it, so that I didn't seem as blonde as a I felt. Wayne was already dressed, his hair neatly combed and his clothes nicely pressed. It kind of made me feel like a rag-a-muffin, still in my pyjamas. At least Cherry was still in her pyjamas as well . . . she was rocking the Wallace and Gromit number.

"Don't you know what date it is?" Wayne demanded. "It's dad's birthday in two weeks! What are we going to get him for his birthday?"

My eyes widened. "A present?" I guessed.

Cherry had went silent as well. She must have realized the 'dire' position we were in right now.

"Yes, I know a present," said Wayne, sounding on edge. I smiled weakly. "But what kind of present? It's up to us to make it special; after all, who else will?"

I knew what-or rather who-he was talking about. Mum. But I wasn't going to start an argument about that, it would just end in tears. "I suppose we could do something," I answered non-committally. If you want to get somewhere in life, always agree with Wayne. Even _dad_ knows that.

"I've had an idea," Wayne continued.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?" I was basically doing the talking for both myself and Cherry, who was obviously listening but wasn't bothering contributing. Whatever Wayne had thought of was probably going to happen anyway so there was no point in kicking up a fuss about it.

"I thought that we should . . ." he paused, as if trying to keep the suspense up. I raised my eyebrows, waiting for it. "Have a surprise party for him!"

Okay, I need to set him straight. Our sweet, shy dad would really respond to the whole, "Oh my goodness-all this for little old _me_?" centre of attention thing. I needed to remind him that after four years of looking after us on his own (with a little help from Grandma, of course), he hadn't exactly got a lot of time for keeping up friendships. Oh wait, that was the point. The surprise is going to be who Wayne was planning to _invite_ to this surprise party!

But of course, I am speaking about my -He Who Must Be Obeyed-brother here.

"Yeah! That sounds like a great idea!" I lied through gritted teeth.

**A/N: Review with your thoughts? :)**


	2. Sensible Answers Only, Please

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or Ally's world.**

**Chapter Two**

**Sensible Answers Only, Please**

My friends houses are all magnolia-painted neat. They have matching towls and plate sets-and_ chairs_ for that matter. But it's quite reassuring to know that there's always another building that's as crumbly round the edges but beautiful as my own.

I ended up thinking just that as I sat on a bench in the park surrounding the Justice Building while also gazing at the huge Rose window of the building itself. I came to the park with the dogs after my conversatin with Wheat about dad's birthday present. Walking always cleared my head, and right now, I needed to come with an alternative plan to Wayne's-and quick.

And yet so far all I'd done is daydream.

So, it was late morning on Sunday, and I was staring at the stained glass of the Rose window when this frantic barking started up.

Rolf (our big, hairy dog) barks at anything-the postman, the gate-post, traffic cones, blades of grass, you name it-but the fact that Winslet (our small, hairy dog) was barking too meant only one thing: Katniss and Lady were on their way.

I was glad-I wanted to corner Katniss, since she was a girl, and ask her if she had any thoughts on possible presents for dad. Alright, I know Katniss is the same age as me and is twenty four years _younger_ than my dad but surely she could come up with something, right? Girls were better at that sort of thing, weren't they?

I was determined to go home with at least one alternative suggestion to Wheat's rotten surprise-party idea.

"Hi!" I waved at her as she stomped over the grass.

"Hi, Peeta," she replied. She sat down beside me on the bench.

Katniss is my mate. We've known each other since we were . . . um . . . _that_ high. I don't see her too often over the week since she goes to an all girls' school, so we always try to meet up in the park on a Sunday morning to catch up.

"So how's things going?" asked Katniss, keeping one eye on the mayhem that was unfolding in front of us.

It's an understatement to say that our dogs don't get along. They were tearing around in a blurry bundle, Katniss' dog Lady trying to sniff Rolf and Winslet's behinds while they animately protest. "I'm okay," I shrugged. "What about you?"

"Great," Katniss replied unconvincingly. "Oh wait, that's right, I failed two exams and everyone is giving me a hard time because I let in three goals at five-a-side yesterday. And there's also a pretty boy who has just moved into my street who doesn't know I exist."

The mention of school made my mind cast back to the thing I had forgotten. Was it something to do with school? What _was_ it? I waited to see if it would come back to me but nothing happened. I could practically hear the dust swirling around in my brain. Okay, no, back onto Katniss.

"But that boy is about twenty, isn't he?" I pointed out. I knew I was about to burst her bubble. "He's not exactly going to trip over himself to talk to you, is he now?"

Katniss had been a bit unpredictable recently. I remember the old days were we used to have these conversations about the meaning of life while playing on the playstation and everything, but nowadays, she's always working the conversation around boys. Ever since I came out she seemed to think that I wouldn't mind. And I don't mind. But, you know, a bit of variety would be nice.

I myself have only ever been with one boy. His name was Keith Brownlow and that only lasted a few dates. My love life is kind of a mess. I know more year eights who've snogged more people than me. And just for the record: I dumped him. And that's because he thought it would be a brilliant idea to kiss me just after drinking a can of Coke.

Just for the record, a little hint for future notice, a guy belching into his boyfriend's mouth is _not_ too gorgeous.

"Just kick me some more, I think you missed a spot," Katniss muttered.

"Don't tempt me," I answered, aiming a trainer at her head. "Anyway, I need to talk to you about something. It's my dad's forteith in two weeks. What do you reckon we should get him?"

"A zimmer frame?" Katniss suggested. "Grey-hair dye? Ouch!"

I didn't kick her that hard, she was over-reacting. Girls are such drama queens. "I'm serious," I insisted.

"I don't know what you should get him," Katniss said. "Shouldn't you know? He is your dad after all!"

"Do you think I'd be asking you if I did?" I asked. Of course this was my fault. I should have known that Katniss wouldn't know what to get.

"What about your brothers? Shouldn't they know?" asked Katniss. "Surely Wayne has some ideas?" Katniss was very intimidated by Wayne which no one could blame her for, since Wayne could intimidate the President of Panem if he was in the right mood. A.K.A the _wrong_ mood. But then, she's kind of funny about Rye and Cherry too. The way Rye dresses freaks her out and basically her nickname for Cherry (Spook Kid) says enough.

"Wheat's idea is sucky," I said, sounding like a stroppy child. "C'mon, Katniss, you've got to have some sort of idea?"

Katniss shrugged. "This morning I was thinking about how cool it would be to own a life sized cut-out of Lara Croft."

"Oh yes, and my dad would certainly love that," I said sarcastically.

"Well, if he doesn't want it you could give it to me," Katniss suggested. "Lady! Oi! Lady! Oh my god, she's off. I'd better go grab her." She stood up and bolted down the hill to where the poodle was trying to sniff the backside of two puzzled Dalmatians. Poor Dalmatians. Didn't know what hit them.

As I watched Katniss try to wrangle her dog, I realized why she let three goals in and couldn't get a boyfriend. Just watching her run, all awkward, long skinny legs and loping arms, you could just tell that she was a complete stranger to the art of coordination.

"Lady! Come here! Lady! Heel! Heel, now!" I could hear her roaring at her oblvious dog from the top of the hill.

Lady. To this day I still can't believe that Katniss' mother came up with that name for their dog with the knowledge that her daughter was going to have to use it every time the animal went a-wall. What was the woman thinking of? I mean, shouting Rolf and Winslet gets the odd look from the odd person but these are people who called their dogs dullsville stuff like Spot or Rover. Rolf was named after a presenter from an animal show called _Animal Hospital_ and Winslet was named after the one and only Kate Winslet. The latter name came around when Rye got a huge crush on Kate after watching _Titanic._ Kate didn't sound right so Cherry suggested Winslet.

Katniss came back up the hill with her crazy poodle writhing in her arms, and breathlessly sat back down beside him on the bench. "You know," she panted, "you should try and get your dad something original for his birthday. Something he'd never expect . . ."

"Yeah? Like what?"

I was intrigued. It seemed Katniss wasn't going to be as useless in this field as I had first thought. "Huh?" she blinked. "Oh, sorry, that's as far as I got."

"Katniss, your dog is smarter than you," I joked.

As if to prove how smart she was, Lady lunged forward to try and lick me. I jumped back, just out of licking range. There was no way that dog was getting within half a metre of my face. Who knew where that nose had been . . .

On the way home I racked my brain for an amazing present idea. And yet nothing still came to mind. My eyes were glued to the pavement, like the gravel might help my concentration. When I was a few doors down from my house, I heard Rye. He got these mules in a sale, and you could recognize the _flippety-flap_ anywhere.

"Rye!" I called. The strangeness of my brother's mind had always fascinated. If someone could come up with something original and unusual, it was him. "Where are you going?"

"Shops!" Rye replied, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand. "We're out of loo roll."

Typical Rye. Who else would go out to buy toilet roll in red velvet mules?

"Okay, see you in a bit." I'll catch her later. I can pick her and Cherry's brain later. Just cuz' our sister was little doesn't mean she couldn't come up with a smart idea.

Because I was thinking so much about dad, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I came face to face with him at the front door.

"Hey, son. Been walking the mutts, then?"

My dad is very casual and laid back. I have a theory that even if he wasn't my dad and I was just meeting him, I'd still like him. My best friend Madge is proof of this. She never leaves our house. She does this thing where every time she's round, she leaves something new behind. Like a CD or a toothbrush. We have an inside joke that she's trying to move herself in without us noticing.

"Hi Peeta!" Madge said, coming from the kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand.

See what I mean?

"Listen, Peeta Bread-" Urgh my dad always called me that-"I'm going along to the workshop for a while. Some spare parts came in and I want to sort them out before I open up tomorrow."

You see, even though we own a bakery, my dad spends more time in the workshop down the road than he does working the family business. I don't blame him, bakery work sucks, and since the lease to the bakery is in our mother's name, I don't blame dad for running for the hills. And, even better, it gets him out of the house so we can have a family-minus dad-meeting about his birthday present.

But hold up-the Peeta Bread thing. You may think you know why dad calls me that but trust me, it's much more complicated than that. Basically, while dad did have a say in our names, they're mum's fault. Which I guess I'm sort of glad about?

It basically happened like this . . .

Wayne *cough* Wheat *cough*, Mellark Child No. 1, was named what he was because he was conceived on the day Mum and Dad got married. So, mum, being the eccentric woman that she was, decided that since dad proposed to her by spelling out 'WILL YOU MARRY ME?' in stems of wheat, that they should to call their first son Wheat Mellark. It was kind of ironic, since he was the baker's son and he was called Wheat. I supposed it's supposed to be funny? Or just concidential?

Then there's Rye. Mellark Child No. 2 (TECHNICALLY). Rye and I are twins, as previously mentioned, but he was born ten minutes before me. Mum and dad had went through a rough patch when Wayne was only a baby. Dad had been staying at a friend's house since mum owned the bakery and the rooms above. One night, Mum baked a Rye loaf and brought to round to the house were dad was staying, and offered it to him as a peace offering. That night Rye and I were conceived.

I was next. Mellark Child No. 3. After Rye was born, my parents literally had _no_ idea what to call me. They didn't want a plain name, since they'd already went with Wheat and Rye for the other two children. Calling me Bob or Dylan really didn't seem to fit. I was literally called John Doe for days while my mother was recovering from birthing twins. Let's keep in mind that that is what they call unidentified_ dead people._ So if you want to get techincal, my first name was John Doe. _But_ about two days after Rye and I were born, inspiration struck.

When my parents were first going out, the bakery didn't exist. Our grandma hadn't bought it yet. But when she did, the first bread my mum ever baked was Pita, because it was apparently easy. So that's how I got my name. And, just to spice things up, they changed the spelling. You know, just to be different.

Finally Mellark Child No. 4. Chantal. Sadly this is the most uninteresting story. Basically Chantal was my mother's favourite name for a girl when she finally got a baby girl, that's what she called her. The interesting part is more into the whole pretend baptism that myself, Wheat and Rye held for her to change her name into Cherry Mellark. Cherry's better anyway . . .

Madge adores the name behind our names. She says they're romantic. I don't really see the romanticism in a Wheat message, a make-up loaf, a first baking experience and a favourite name. Eh, maybe I'm missing something. Maybe this is just because her mother got her name from the big book of names for girls.

Anyway, back on point, I think . . .

"I was taking a DVD back to the shop for my parents," Madge explained. "Fancy watching it before I drop it off?"

"Yeah, okay," I shrugged, trying to find a space on the overcrowded coat rack fr my jacket. "What is it?"

"Something with Nicole Kidman in it . . ." Madge glanced back in the direction of the kitchen where she must have left the disc.

"Cool," I nodded. I frowned as I noticed something wrong with Madge's eyes. Sure, she has this big blue Disney movie eyes anyway but today they were rolling around so she looked deranged. Dad was milling about between us, trying to find his keys and the set for the workshop, so I suppose she was trying to let me know something without alerting him.

Madge seemed to be getting frustrated at my lack of psychic ability and dumped her coffee cup down on the hall table and stomped up the stairs. "Going to the loo," she said needlessly, stepping over one of the cats who wasn't Colin and throwing me a bizarre boggle eyed look.

"Okay," I shrugged, passing dad as he pulled on his coat and said goodbye. Then it hit me. "Wait Madge!" I bellowed after her as I entered the kitchen. "There's no toiler pap-"

It was then that I saw what Madge was signalling with her eyes.

There, sitting at the kitchen and gently brushing another cat who wasn't Colin off the Sunday paper in front of him, was Cato.

Cato.

My mouth hung open where I stood with my forgotten finished sentence. I probably looked strange, standing in the kitchen doorway just wanting to catch flies. Oh god, I wish I could rewind my life ten seconds so I wouldn't look like such a dork.

"Hi, Peeta . . ." he said, glancing at me from the paper he was-cat allowing-trying to flick through. It was less than a glance-a glancette, if you will-but the smallest of eye contact with Cato tended to have a very traumatic affect one me: I stop speaking english. I speak gibberish.

"Huh-uh, hi," I mumbled, stepping awkwardly into the kitchen.

I was walking with these funny bobbing little moves, like an insecure chicken.

"Uh . . . where-where's Wayne, then?"

"Wayne?" he repeated gently, like he wasn't talking to someone not all there. "I'm waiting for him. He's on his phone, I think."

Cato looked back down at the paper and I exhaled. It gave me a second to gaze at him, take in the gorgeousness of him, uninteruppted. His hair was short, messy and blond. Those spookily pale, green eyes; a heart bursting smile; a cute little leather strappy around his wrist; those skinny yet muscular tanned arms . . . Hey tell me when you've got an hour, so I can let you in on the full list.

"So," I squeaked, cursing myself on the inside, "What are you two . . . guys up to-to-to-today?" Oh god Mellark, pull yourself together! I had this transatlantic twang to my voice, and trust me, I don't make it a habit to sound like an extra out of an American teen show too often.

He gazed up at me, and I knew my face must be pracitcally glowing pink. My cheeks were sahara hot, you could fry some bacon on them. Except since I was standing it would keep slipping off . . . obviously . . .

Thinking about frying bacon at a time like this may seem like a crazy thing to do but trust me, it distracts me from doing something extremely idiotic or dorky in Cato's presence.

"We're just going to the square," he spoke in this slow drawl of his, which is just delicious. Except I don't know what he was talking about, since my ear were buzzing like I was underwater. I just nodded knowledgeably. They were probably going to some clothes shops or something . . .

"Right. Well . . . uh . . . don't do anything I wouldn't!" Oh my god, now I sound like a seedy, deeply corny bloke off a building site. I was considering faking a collapse to end my agony when a blood curdling scream erupted from upstairs.

Cato looked shocked.

"What was that?" I exclaimed, turning and hurrying out into the hall. I know I was wanting a diversion but maybe this was a bit too horrific. I mean, for all I know, something catatrosphic could have happened.

"Madge?" I called, leaping up the stairs two at a time. I found her in Cherry's room, rigid with fear. I thought her eyes were mad earlier, it was nothing on the I've-just-seen-an-alien! boggling they were doing now.

"What the hell-" barked Wheat, appearing at my side, along with Cato, who had followed me. But it wasn't her stare or gritted teeth that was the freakiest thing. It was that, for some bizarre reasons, Madge had all these _twigs_ in her hair.

Uh-oh . . .

They were moving.

**A/N: R&R?**


	3. Hey! Let's Be Friends! (NOT )

**A/N: A big thank you to my first reviewer Mattiboi! This chapter's for you! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or Ally's World.**

**Chapter Three**

**Hey! Let's Be Friends! (NOT . . .)**

"You shouldn't have done it."

"Why?"

"Because it wasn't nice."

"Why?"

"Because you scared her."

"Why?"

"Why _what_?"

You don't know how hard it is to have a sensible conversation with Cherry sometimes. She's a girl of little words and it gets frustrating trying to read between the lines all the time. "Why was she scared of them?" she asked.

_"Because_ when Madge said she'd like to see then," Rye explained, as he passed Cherry her plate, "she didn't think you were going to put the stick insects _on her head_."

Earlier in the afternoon, Wayne, Cato and I were still trying to figure out the best way to remove Cherry's addition to the household from Madge's hair-with Cherry herself anxiously watching and wailing about the poor stick insects-when Rye came back from the corner shop. Thankfully, the insects were okay but he came back with the idea of wafting a lettuce leaf over Madge's trembling head. This enticed them away from the Head and Shoulders bathed hair and up into the safety of the much healthier option.

Now Cherry's tea sat in front of her, but she blinked at it and said nothing. You could tell that she was definitely disappointed with Madge's reaction.

She's always been deeply suspicious of anyone who doesn't display 100% adoration for animals, as if they were crazy mutants who didn't know the nicer things in life. And Madge's reaction on her way to the loo to show off new pets, the last thing she'd expected was for her to act like she did. There was only one exception to this: Our grandma. Cherry loves our grandma as much as she loves animals.

"Rye, what _is _this?" Wayne demanded, staring at his plate, horrified by its contents.

"Remember Dad said we should eat more fish?" Rye asked. He looked hurt, but I wasn't sure why. Wayne always had a pop at his efforts every time it's Rye's turn to cook so you'd think he was used to it by now. Wayne, Rye, myself and Dad take turns cooking at the weekend (with the exception of Cherry, obviously as we'd end up eating tuna and Hula Hopps). Grandma comes around during the week to cook for us, since us guys are, ahem, busy with our homework.

"Sure, we can eat more fish. But what _is_ this?"

Wayne wasn't being very nice-if I'm honest-the dinner wasn't very nice either. Potato waffles, coleslaw and . . . are they kippers? I rest my case.

"The fish shop was busy and got a bit flustered so I just pointed to the nearest thing when it was my turn!" Rye exclaimed.

If you ask me, he probably got flustered because of the cute girl who works there on Saturdays.

"I'm sure it'll be lovely," said dad. Ah, ever the diplomat. "Thanks Rye."

Rye grinned gratefully and reached over for the ketchup. Good plan, smothering everything in the stuff might just be the only way we're going to be able to get through this.

"So, dad," Wayne said as he gingerly picked at his food. "I was thinking, since it's your birthday soon, and since last year we all went out for pizza, why don't we just stay at home and cook something special here?"

"Will Rye make it?" Cherry asked in a panic.

"No, it's okay," Wayne assured her. Rye pulled a face and rolled his eyes.

My heart sank-I knew what Wayne was up to. As far as he was concerned, the surprise party was the holy grail of birthday ideas. And making sure dad was out of the house was phase one of setting it in motion.

"Stay home? Fine by me," shrugged dad. "You guys know I don't like a fuss."

_See?_ I wanted to yell at Wayne, _he doesn't like a fuss!_

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't a surprise party a fuss?

"On the topic of fuss, poor Madge," laughed dad. "She must have been so embarrassed today."

He was right there. Poor Madge. She's a total sweet pea-you'll never find anyone more trusting or kind-but on a scale of one-to-ten shyness, Madge is a nine and a half-which mades me kind of protective of her. She was so horrified by the stick insect mishap, she just spent the whole Nicole Kidman movie quietly groaning to herself and everytime I paused and asked if she was okay, she said she was fine. Put it this way, she kept covering her face with her hands, she must have missed three quarters of the film.

"Yeah, she was embarrassed," I nodded, wincing for her. I mean _I _wouldn't exactly like to have someone cool like Cato seeing me in such a total state.

"I can't blame her," dad continued. "Being stuck in a rom with everyone staring at you, and _only_ you-that's my idea of a nightmare."

My hand froze as I lifted a forkful of fish to my mouth (any excuse not to consume) and threw a glance over at Wayne. He'd gone rigid too. I flicked my eyes to dad who oblviously gave me the smallest of winks. Did he know? Had he overheard? Was he_ psychic?_ Or was that just a weird fluke? A twitch maybe? I didn't know and I didn't care. What I did know was that the stupid surprise party idea was down the tubes, thank god.

Long live the next idea.

Whatever that was.

~xXx~

I was thumping down the road on my way to school, waiting for the usual, "Peeeetttaaa! Wait for meeeeee!" from Madge, but it didn't come. We never plan to meet, hence her straggling to catch up all time. My brothers go to Palace Gates too, but we all go out of our way not to walk together.

I suppose I should have been doing something constructive, like coming up with a out of this world oh-my-god-Peeta-you're-a-genius present for dad or maybe trying to figure out what I had forgotten. But instead I was thinking about Cato.

More specifically, I was thinking for the millionth time how Wayne could honestly be Just Good Friends with someone as omigod beautiful as him. How can he not just want to jump him?

I should explain. You know how I said earlier that Rye wasn't gay, he was just feminine? It is actually the most ironic thing ever, since he is the only straight Mellark son in the mix. Wayne came out when he was fifteen and I hadn't realized that I had to come out until about a year ago. _I_ thought that people would just know. I didn't know I would have to inform people on my sexual preference.

But with the whole Cato and Wayne thing, it's not that I think two gay (that's right, Cato's in the same boat as us) guys can't be friends. Of course they can. But . . . it's _Cato Hadley_ for god's sake. I don't know how Wayne can't see the obvious gorgeous meter going off the scale.

Anyway, I entered the yard into the Palace Gates comp and through the main entrance, I was feeling pretty good about my Cato-centered daydreams, even though it was Monday morning and I had five days of brain melting school in front of me.

And there were still five minutes until the first bell until my freedom was gone for the rest of the week. Five minutes to hog a radiator and continue my daydreams.

Or maybe not.

"Peeta, can I have a word please?"

Mrs Coin, our Year Head. We were told that we were supposed to look at Mrs Coin as a friend but, come on, the woman was in her fifties. I wasn't going to go to her with my problems as if she were Katniss or Madge.

My good mood disappeared as I did as I was told and silently followed her along the corridor to her office. "This," she said, sweeping her door open and wafting her hand impatiently at someone sitting in a chair, "is Delly Cartwright. And this-" she pointed at me-"is Peeta Mellark. Peeta, Delly has just joined us and is going to be in your form class. Therefore I've decided to assign you to look after her for the week. Show her around and things. Okay?"

Okay? I guess it was. At least I wasn't in trouble, I just had to babysit.

I wasn't sure if I liked her.

Delly Cartwright was slouched in her seat. She was loudly chewing gum, so her jaw moved in that annoying way that caused her saliva to smack together. She was sizing me up, like she was trying to guess my height and weight just by staring at me. I tried to stare back at her but bottled out almost immediately.

She was annoyingly pretty. But her hair was pulled back into one of those-and I don't mean to sound bitchy-chavy top knots. And she had this really arrogant manner.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Mrs Coin. "The bell just went. You'll be late for History, if you don't hurry!"

"Thank you _sooo_ much, Mrs Coin," Delly drawled languidly, standing up and blasting a bare teeth smile at our Head of Year.

"Goodbye, Delly," said Mrs Coin. She then shut the door tight behind us.

"What a frigid old cow!"

I couldn't believe Delly had the nerve to proclaim something so loudly and right outside Mrs Coin's door. I also couldn't believe I suddenly wanted to defend Mrs Coin. "She's all right," I said. I started walking in the direction of History and assumed Delly would follow.

"Not from where _I_ was standing," Delly snorted. Maybe with someone else I would have agreed with her but Delly's cockiness bugged me. She hadn't even been here five minutes and she was already mouthing off.

"So when did you arrive in 12, then?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Last week," she replied, yawning.

Yawning? Was I _boring_ her already?

"Do you like it?"

"Don't know. It's a bit boring. I told my parents we should have moved to 1 but _nooo_, they wanted to move to 12."

"Oh?" I answered through gritted teeth.

I know it's crazy but I really love where I live. And I'm very defensive of it too.

"Yeah-1 is much more happening that _this_ place."

I couldn't speak for a second, I was too annoyed. I was trying, I'm not into being rude. Even if Delly was. "So whereabouts you living?"

"North of the Merchant Square. The house we're in is a pit."

A pit? The North of Merchant Square was what the estate agents go poetic over. It's luxurious and desriable etc. etc. How spoilt was this girl? "Uh-huh. So where did you live before?"

"District 10."

"Oh, I know that place, I went there when I was little." I loved District 10. Mum and dad took Wayne, Rye and I (Cherry wasn't born yet) to a little farm there. I can still remember the smell of freshly cut grass and the harmonious bleeting of the baby animals. I even got to milk a cow. It so fun, I want to go back some day when I'm older.

"It's a total dump, isn't it?"

"I thought it was nice," I found myself mumbling. Maybe she just wasn't into country life . . .

"Boring as hell," Delly sighed.

"Why did you move?" I asked.

"We move a lot," she yawned again. "We get around. My dad's an assistant bank manager."

"And your mum?" I asked, eyeing up the approaching doorway.

Delly grinned. "She's a professional drinker."

Wait, what? I looked at Delly in shock. "Only joking," she sniggered.

_What a horrible thing to joke about,_ I frowned to myself. But then I guess I'm pretty super-sensitive when it comes to stuff to do with mums.

Everyone was drifting into class, shuffling as slowly as possible to drag out the time it took to get in. Over by the window, Madge was already sitting in her seat; she shot me a quizzical expression. From the back of the room, I could see Glimmer and Marvel, wondering what the deal was.

"Hello Peeta. This must be Delly?" asked Miss Paylor.

"That's me!" Delly trilled. I winced. Muck around with Mrs Coin, fine, but not Miss Paylor. She was too nice and sincere to be messed around with. She's my favourite teacher.

"Right, let's see . . . Do you want to sit yourself here for a moment? I'll come and chat with you in a second?"

With an almighty sigh, Delly flopped down into the seat at the desk that had been pointed out to her.

Miss Paylor gave me one of those looks that like my dad's the night before, _could_ have meant something and then again might not. But her expression seemed to say,_ "She's_ going to be a pain, isn't she?"

But that was me guessing.

"So Peeta, I was just in the middle of asking Madge how you're doing with your project."

Our project . . .

Oh. My. God.

You know that thing I'd forgotten?

Yeah, it wasn't forgotten anymore . . .

**A/N: Please read and review with your thoughts? :-)**


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